


Like Ships In The Night

by TeamAlphaQ



Category: Durarara!!
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, M/M, Nothing too painful, This is a much softer story than what I usually write, Yearning, please bear with me, prompt, slight angst, soft
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-15
Updated: 2020-06-14
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:27:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,387
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24728203
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TeamAlphaQ/pseuds/TeamAlphaQ
Summary: It's just a thing they do, the little notes left everywhere. Some of them are simple,We're out of milk.Some of them are a little more complicated.I haven't been sleeping well without you.But it's probably a good thing they're just notes, because otherwise, they'd both have to face some emotions they don't particularly want to think about too hard.
Relationships: Heiwajima Shizuo/Orihara Izaya
Comments: 12
Kudos: 55





	Like Ships In The Night

**Author's Note:**

  * For [twistedlove](https://archiveofourown.org/users/twistedlove/gifts).



> WHeeeeee this was a prompt given to me by twistedlove! I asked for a number of them on a chapter of The Trouble With Soulmates and I intend to turn most of them into little stories to distract me from all the heavy emotions that are to come.
> 
> These will all just be very short little thoughtful pieces. Nothing too long, but hopefully something fluffy and enjoyable anyway.
> 
> Twistedlove, I do hope you enjoy the story because I enjoyed thinking it up and writing it.
> 
> Enjoy!

He finds it haphazardly stuck to the milk carton, right where he’s sure to see it. As if he could have missed the neon green post-it covered in tight spiky scrawl in the first place.

_ Your snoring kept me up all night, so I ate your pudding. _

Yanking it off of the carton, Shizuo stares at it for a moment, his brows furrowing. He doesn’t remember snoring, but then, he was asleep, so he supposes he wouldn’t. Of course Izaya would rather pout about it than wake him up, even though he knows the blond doesn’t mind getting woken up if it’s in service of helping his stubborn boyfriend get some sleep.

Letting out a huff that’s half irritation, half exasperation, the blond stuffs the thing in the pocket of his sweatpants with a mutter of, “Shitty louse.”

It’s something that Izaya does; leaving notes for him to find. Days like this, where he wakes up to a Flea-shaped depression in the mattress beside him instead of being rewarded with the man himself, it’s sometimes the only communication with him the blond gets. 

Shizuo doesn't text much. Izaya doesn’t reliably answer him when he does. These little memos to each other are much more reliable, ironically.

Their communication has always been a little  _ strange, _ as has their relationship in general, though to hear Izaya tell it, nothing says ‘I love you’ like a vending machine to the face.

It’s almost harder now that they exist in such close proximity. At this point, they might as well live together, they spend more time together than they do apart. But that hasn’t made coexisting any simpler. If anything, it makes life more confusing.

The fact that Izaya actively wants to talk to Shizuo is baffling.

What’s even more baffling is that he tends to seek out the same thing. Contact, of any sort. Even if it is in the form of little pieces of paper stuck to the nearest available surface.

At times like this, when their schedules don’t overlap, it’s nice to have something that reminds him that Izaya cares, even if it is only through pieces of paper. Shizuo sometimes leaves notes as well, when he knows that he’s not going to be around to see his louse. 

Ridiculous though it might seem, he likes it.

Even when the notes are something dumb, like this one is today.

_ Especially _ when the notes are something dumb. He’s not sure what he’d do if there was something truly heavy written on them. Just as he doesn’t know what to do with himself when he wants to write out the mushy nonsense running through his head on his own notes.

As he closes the refrigerator door behind him, he’s got a smile on his face, and a contented sort of warmth bubbling in his chest.

Though he’d never admit it to Izaya’s face, he has a collection of all the notes the man has left for him. Every single stupid piece of paper, every battered post-it note, all of them are stuffed away in the top drawer of his bedside table. He doesn’t often go back over them, rereading whatever inane nonsense has been written there, but keeping them feels right regardless.

Like some small piece of the Raven that will always be there, even when the man himself has wandered off.

It’s only after he’s poured himself a glass of milk that the whole note finally sinks in, and he almost shatters the cup in his hand.

“Wait a moment,  _ he ate my fucking pudding?!” _

_ Fucking Flea. _

))))-((((

It’s nine in the morning by the time Izaya finally arrives home. This is a new low for him, usually he at least manages to return at some point during the night but certain…  _ things _ had gotten out of hand. He could have made it back by three, but he’d managed to pick up a very stubborn tail, and he’d wanted to have some fun.

One thing had led to another. Things had  _ not _ given him the satisfying conclusion he’d been craving. Now he’s just exhausted,  _ unpleasantly so. _

Shizuo’s apartment is at just the right temperature to encourage sleep. Though, without the blond’s presence filling the small apartment, Izaya is at a loss as to how he’s supposed to pursue those desires. Everything is just a little off without the other man there.

Stepping fully into the room, he carefully latches the door behind him.

For better or for worse, the Raven wakes up a little as he sees the remnants of a business envelope unceremoniously tacked to the nearest obvious surface, which just so happens to be the armchair. It’s not tape holding it up, it’s some other Shizuo-physics that don’t conform to this mortal plane (or any other, for that matter).

_ I couldn’t figure out how to turn your phone off last night so I threw it out the window. Sorry. _

Instantly, Izaya’s shoulder’s relax as the tension from the night leaves him in a rush. “I swear, it’s like you’re trying to convince me that you’re unending stupidity is adorable. I refuse to buy it, Shizu-chan, you can’t convince me.” He mutters the words under his breath, trying to sound annoyed even though he’s the only one in the room and lying to himself is useless.

Shizuo’s penmanship is terrible, it’s hardly legible, had the man even been paying attention as he wrote it? And how did the blond survive, being so tech illiterate? It’s hardly difficult to silence a phone. Yet still, faced with the sheer nonsense of the note in his hands, Izaya feels a wave of rightness roll through him.

He’s home now, he doesn’t have to keep up his masks and pretensions, at least for these few stolen hours.

He says  _ home, _ perhaps that’s a little presumptuous. But he forgets sometimes that he doesn’t live here in the den of his rival turned whatever-they-are-now, considering how often he’s slinking through the door, still furtive even though he has a key to the damn place. 

Of course Izaya still  _ appreciates _ his high rise, enjoys it even more when Shizuo is filling the sterile air with cigarette smoke and his low, endearing voice. But  _ here, _ Izaya feels inundated by the other man. Couldn’t escape him even if he wanted to.

It’s in the scent of nicotine and the milk glass on the table and the dents in the walls and yes, in the note still clutched between his fingers like it’s a physical manifestation of the blond.

Unannounced, a savage tear of loneliness rips through Izaya, and he swallows it down.

He knows that he saw Shizuo just the other day, but by the same token, he’s aware that he won’t see his beast again until tomorrow at least. Naturally, Izaya has somewhere to be later today, he’s only here to catch some much needed sleep before darting off again. There isn’t time to simply waste it here waiting for Shizuo to get off work, no matter how tempting the idea is.

Hopefully, he’ll be able to spend tomorrow morning with the man. The thought doesn’t so much bring a smile to his face as spark a strange wobble in his lungs.

Understanding hits him like a bolt out of the blue. Izaya’s gone  _ soft, _ letting himself get taken up with those golden eyes and soft blond hair that sticks up wildly in every direction. It’s absolutely ridiculous, but at moments like this, the only thing he could ever ask for is just a second spent with his beast.

Even that much would be enough to settle his nerves.

Instead, he contents himself with wandering to Shizuo’s bedroom, kicking off his shoes,  _ carefully _ folding the note and slipping it into his coat pocket, then stripping that off too and finally _ finally _ collapsing onto the mattress.

It’s lumpy, vaguely uncomfortable compared to his own, luxury, high end bed.

A hard knot forms somewhere caged within his ribs as he inhales Shizuo’s musk. For the briefest moment, it’s almost too painful to breathe past, and he has to resist the urge to rub uselessly at his chest.

But then he remembers the note, and  _ actually _ pays attention to the words.

_ Ah, well, there goes another phone. I hope nothing too important was on it. _

Honestly, what a stupid beast…


End file.
